-Matthew-

Matthew continued staring at the road, refusing to look at anyone. Yet he kept feeling those crimson eyes on his cheek, just being stared at that much would make him blush. Instead of doing just that he decided to review what led up to this. What led up to him losing everything to Them.

The infection had taken hold of Canada's southern ally, America. The Canadian government did what they could, officially closed the border from America to Canada. They erected a fence, and would let fleeing American's through given they weren't infected.

Everything just carried on as per usual in Matthew's life. He woke up, went to his job, got groceries afterwards, and then went home and to bed. His adult life certainly hadn't turned out how he imagined it. He wasn't what he wanted to be, which Matthew realized he didn't know what that was.

He was naïve in the sense that he believed the fence would hold. He was sitting on his couch one night in his tiny apartment, when there was someone knocking at his apartment door. Begrudgingly leaving the book he'd been reading, he answered it, surprised to find his older half -Brother Alfred standing there on his threshold.

The next year was rigorous; everyday his brother woke him up early, made him attend self-defense classes, and most of all he made him do parkour. Matthew had always assumed it was just Alfred just being Alfred. It all changed when the fences broke.

When the news surged through Canada about a breach in the fence, every Canadian citizen could be seen on the street with a weapon, and Alfred had left gone back down to America. When three months had passed with no report of any turnings, people began to relax, but Matthew didn't relax. So when one day he was walking through the streets on the day IT happened. He was more than prepared.

Matthew was snapped out of his reverie when the van slowly jerked to a stop at an out of place highway motel. He glanced around at everyone in the van as they all got out, including Gilbert. Matthew gulped and slipped out as well.

Lovino went in with Antonio, and the two scouted the area looking for 'them'. When they gave the safe signal ten minutes later all of them went inside the abandoned motel. Matthew immediately found an empty, safe, room. Looking around he went into the bathroom, and tested the shower. Thankfully it was working, he breathed in relief. Finally he could get himself clean, finally he could make all the killing like a distant memory. Which he knew it wasn't, there would always end up being more killing. As more and more people got infected, died, and turned. His breath caught in his throat as he thought about that day.

The more he thought about it, the deeper he sank into self- loathing and depression. The deeper he sank into self –loathing, the more dangerous he became to those kind enough to take him in. the more dangerous he became, the more people he'd have to leave. It was a seemingly unending cycle, it was an unfortunate truth that had entered his life.

Something he had no control over.

As the internal rant went on his conscious about having to leave these people soon, the water had heated up to a satisfactory warm temperature. Stepping out of his clothes, setting his hockey stick on the wall next to the towel rack, Matthew found a sweet reprieve in the too hot water.

He stood there letting the liquid flow over his bare skin. Watching from beneath his eyelashes as the dried blood ran down the drain. With the blood came the violent memories, of gore and decisions he'd never wanted to make. With the memories came the inner turmoil, then the self- chastising, then the hatred of himself, an unfortunate cycle that seemed to never end, and had been a part of his life since 'IT' happened.

As an attempt at distracting himself from the thoughts, he became to scrub his skin raw with the available cleansers. He scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to clean away the memories of a time before his life was about survival, when he could take a walk without a weapon in hand. Before these strange people saw him, fighting for his life. Before Gilbert, Matthew stopped there. Why was he thinking that? He didn't know Gilbert, and Gilbert didn't know him. The man had simply helped save him from a certain infection and turning.

Lars had only been gone a few months, and already it appeared Matthew was searching for his replacement. No, Matthew had never been attracted to Lars. The two had merely been good friends, there was no sexual attraction on any level for either of them. Yet still it felt like a hole was made in his life, when Lars went.

Matthew leaned up against the shower wall as the memories of that day came flooding back to him, memories of people screaming, running for their lives. Most to no avail whatsoever, horrifying images of teeth sinking into flesh, of blood flooding from infected bites, his ears filling with the sound of hungry gluttonous moans, were filling with the screams of people dying, with the screams and tears of people surviving. He gulped down the lump that threatened his throat when he thought upon that woman who'd clutched her daughter to her chest as the little girl turned. Images flashed in front of his eyelids of old men and women not even trying to run.

Matthew paused in his thoughts, and recollections. When he heard one of the others find his hiding place.

"Matt, you in here?" the German accent rang through the room. Matthew gulped down whatever insult he'd been intent on hurling at the intruder. Thinking better of staying silent he took a breath before speaking.

"Y-yes, I'm in here, just cleaning myself up." He called over the rushing of the water, "In fact I'm actually done." Matthew reached out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. Turning the water off, Matthew tucked his trusty hockey stick beneath his arm, and gathering up his clothes from the bathroom floor. He trotted out from the misty, warm, moist bathroom.

Water pooled and dropped from his fringe, beads of water running down his exposed torso. Matthew swept his hair back, as he chose to ignore the albino standing by the bed.

Without removing his towel from his waist, Matthew pulled on his boxers again. Dropping his towel once his boxers were on he stepped into jeans, than pulled his undershirt over his wet curls, finishing the ensemble with his red hoodie. Turning once fully clothed to look straight into crimson eyes, and a flush pale face.

-Gilbert-

Gilbert had to admit, Matthew was stunning when wet. His hair no long coated in dried blood, skin not covered with red hoodie, violet eyes no longer obscured by glinting pieces of glass.

The albino stood there slightly stunned, as he reviewed what had led him to this particular situation. They'd been scavenging for food in the manager's room, and the other motel rooms. When they all noticed their 'leader' was no longer with them. Gilbert would never admit it, but when he realized that Matthew wasn't with them fear gripped at his throat as sorrow clutched his lungs. He found himself honestly praying to a god that he'd given up on a day after 'IT' happened.

Praying that Matthew hadn't somehow, gotten infected and already turned, praying that he was still well, that he could continue with them. Gilbert had broken from the group in search of Matthew, when he saw the open motel room door relief briefly flooded over him. Before it was replaced by dread, dread that somehow what he feared had somehow happened. So with weapon at the ready he cautiously walked into the room. Not being immediately assaulted by hungry starving teeth, and cannibalistic hands was taken as a good sign, deciding to call into the room, just in case his half-hearted prayers had been answered.

"Matt, you in here?" he let his voice sound around the room

"Y-yes, I'm in here, just cleaning myself up," the surprisingly soft delicate voice called out, "In fact I'm actually done."

Getting an answer was added to Gilberts list of 'Amazing Moments in the Life of Gilbert Weilschmit'. He was about to leave and tell the others. Matthew was simply taking a shower, they needn't worry anymore. Then he got out.

Gilbert's breath hitched at how simply marvelous Matthew looked with the mist pouring from the bathroom. Not to mention the light made him look like he was wearing a halo.

Crimson watched as a surprisingly lithe muscled body, walked across the room to rest his clothes on the given bed. A pale Addams apple moved up and down as he caught sight of creamy skin beneath the towel.

Gilbert was sure his pale face was now a bright red against his white skin when Matthew turned to look at him after he changed. An awkward silence settled between them, until Matthew let an almost silent cough pass between his surprisingly feminine lips.

"A-ah! Right, well I guess we should head back to everyone then!" He turned to leave, stopping when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. Gilbert turned and stared into those lavender eyes. Something was trying to be said by Matthew through his eyes, it was obviously not working.

His crimson eyes darted down to where the other man's fingers wrapped around his pale ghostly wrist. They rested there marveling at how well those long calloused fingers seemed to wrap around his scrawny albino wrist. Gilbert's eyes darted over to his other hand, where the grip on the hockey stick seemed to tighten.

When he glanced back up at those now violet eyes he saw something for a brief moment before he heard it. Those hungry starved gurgling moans, coming from deep within an empty body, no longer alive. Violet now cold and emotionless again, shoved crimson behind.

Matthew held out his hockey stick in front of him as 'it' lunged forwards. Teeth bare, lips dangling from slack skin. Literally its lips were swinging as a small piece of skin held it in place. Stomach lurching, Gilbert held his gun aloft ready to fire. 'It' stumbled forward after being pushed back. 'It' got a hold of the hockey stick and neared Matthew's exposed wrist, teeth starving for the flesh of the man holding the weapon.

Gilbert's eyes widened as adrenaline and a sudden possessive growl ripped through him. He aimed quickly fueled by adrenaline, and pulled the trigger. 'It' fell back as the bullet ripped through its skull, effectively hitting the brain and blasting out from behind. Gilbert glanced over and saw Matthew looking at him with now frightened lavender eyes, face ashen white. Tears began to pool in his eyes, as he whispered something, the words slipping through his plump feminine lips.

"Where you bitten?" Gilbert once again prayed to the God he'd forsaken, turned his back on. "If you really do exist, than please. Let him be okay." He found himself silently praying once again.

Matthew shook his head 'no' as tears streamed down his face. Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief. Thanking whatever entity was out there.

"I-I'm fine..." Matthew whispered before drying his eyes, and going back to his cold detached self. Gilbert's heart fluttered at the realization that he'd just witnessed a rare moment of emotion from Matthew. Well rare ever since they found him, fighting for his life on the street of whatever god forsaken city they'd been in.

Heart pounding in his chest the two walked back to the group. No one paid them mind. All were too busy getting whatever they'd scavenged from inside the motel.

Back on the road again Matthew cleared his throat before saying to the rest of the car, no one in particular was spoken too. Yet they all listened, Matthew seemed to that air about him.

"When I first arrived, when you guys rescued me, I heard you mention something a 'sanctuary'?"

"Yeah, Francis back there said there was somewhere we could go. You know, and be safe." Gilbert responded for everyone.

He glanced over at Matthew before going back to staring at the road. Matthew had seemed contemplative as he continued driving and glancing at him. Finally after of ten minutes of driving in silence, Matthew spoke.

"I know where you're talking about. I can get you there."